


odds are

by lovelylogans



Series: the sideshire files [5]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Costume Party, Domestic Fluff, Halloween, Homesickness, Loneliness, M/M, Multi, Nostalgia, wyliwf!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-16 00:37:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelylogans/pseuds/lovelylogans
Summary: patton has beenwellaware that halloween is virgil’s favorite holiday. it’s not even their first halloween since they’ve been together orlivedtogether—but virgil’sreallystepping it up this year.





	odds are

**Author's Note:**

> __**LORELAI**: Oh, come on. This will be fun.  
**LUKE**: No way, not happening.  
**LORELAI**: But this is our first Halloween together as a full-blown, committed, soon-to-be-married couple. We need to start our own traditions.  
**LUKE**: Tell you what. I'll build you the chair, help with the test tubes, and then I'm done.  
**LORELAI**: But you would be so scary with smoke coming out of your nose. I really want to see that.  
**LUKE**: Well, we're gonna be together the rest of our lives, so odds are you will.  
-_gilmore girls_, twenty-one is the loneliest number
> 
> HAPPY HALLOWEEN! we’ve hit the last prompt for 13 days of halloween prompts over at @sanderssidescelebrations! today’s prompt is **costume party! **this takes place about two years later after the events of **[cohabit](https://lovelylogans.tumblr.com/post/187988328864/cohabit) **and about nine months after the events of** [cocoa](https://lovelylogans.tumblr.com/post/188700249252/cocoa)**—so it’s logan and roman’s freshman year of college a<strike>nd don’t worry the whole Relationship Development and like, Other Developments that get dropped pretty soon in the story _will_ be subject to a oneshot(s) or potentially multichap sideshire files, don’t worry boo i gotchu </strike>[you can find the various foods mentioned throughout the story here.](https://www.womansday.com/food-recipes/food-drinks/g2497/halloween-party-food/)

**seven days**

patton has been _well_ aware that halloween is virgil’s favorite holiday. it’s not even their first halloween since they’ve been together or _lived_ together—but virgil’s _really_ stepping it up this year.

“pat.”

patton makes a grumbling kind of noise—patton’s close to drifting off to sleep, which virgil knows, and virgil _also_ knows not to really expect a lot of conversation from patton when he’s near sleep, either waking up or falling asleep—and squints. the only light on in the room is virgil’s phone.

“pat, we forgot to get a costume for cocoa,” virgil says.

patton mumbles something that’s supposed to be “we have a week,” but it comes out garbled. somehow, virgil understands it—it’s probably the almost-nineteen years of knowing him.

“i don’t even have an _idea,”_ virgil says.

“can we figure this out in the morning?” patton mumbles. 

“it’s cocoa’s _first halloween.”_

“cocoa doesn’t seem to care much right now.”

cocoa is, indeed, flopped out at their feet, snoozing happily away. patton’s kind of jealous.

“but—i don’t have an _idea,”_ virgil says, and patton sighs, adjusting as much as he can without kicking their dog, and ends up flopping most of his body on top of virgil’s torso, pillowing his head on virgil’s shoulder. this also, conveniently, brings virgil’s phone out of his sight.

_“sleep now.”_

“patton—“

“sleep _now_,” he repeats in a kind of growl. 

there’s a hesitation. then, the light clicks off, and there’s the sound of virgil’s phone being settled on his bedside table. patton almost smiles, and readjusts, getting comfy.

“...so, like, do you think we should dress her more cute or more scary?” virgil asks tentatively.

patton lets out a huff that’s the closest thing to a snort he can get, when he’s this close to dropping off. “definitely cute,” he mumbles.

“okay,” virgil says. there’s another long pause, and patton’s about to slip off into sleep, before—

“is it too on-the-nose if we dress her up like a cup of cocoa?”

“darling,” patton says, “i love you, and i will super definitely listen to your rambling as you try to narrow down your costume ideas, because that is what fiancés slash almost-husbands should do, but if you do not let me get to sleep there might just be a halloween-themed murder.”

there’s a pause.

“so no to the cup of cocoa idea, then,” virgil says, and patton laughs, pressing a kiss to virgil’s shoulder before he nuzzles against his chest.

“so if we’re thinking cute, then we’ve got a lot of options since she’s pretty ambiguous about clothes, she likes the jacket we put on her when it’s cold out, so that’s not a limit,” virgil muses, and patton falls asleep to the gentle lull of his voice as he talks about dog costume ideas.

* * *

**six days**

logan really shouldn’t still be doing this, by now. he’s been at college for nearly three months, now. it only took twenty-one days to form a habit, and it seemed the twenty-one days had snuck up on him, and now—

“hi, dad.”

“hey, kiddo,” his dad says, and logan leans against the wall of his lecture hall, closing his eyes tight. “how’s your day going so far?”

“mostly good,” logan fibs. “i just got done with my history course, so i’m done with classes for the week.”

his dad makes a sound of celebration, and logan smiles, just a little, avoiding the gazes of the anonymous sea of people flooding forth from the lecture hall.

“but i’m going to the library soon,” logan adds, and his dad lets out a familiar sigh.

“well, as long as you’re not overworking yourself,” his dad says.

logan hums, because if he says something about how he’s going to be plotting out an essay that’s due right before thanksgiving break his dad will tell him to take a break and that he can take a weekend to relax, but he absolutely _cannot do that. _instead, he says, “what plans do you have for the weekend?”

“oh, not much, really,” patton says. “hang around the diner, take cocoa for some really long walks before it gets too cold, try to talk virgil out of turning the front yard into a graveyard for the trick-or-treaters, you know, the usual.”

“trying to talk virgil out of what,” logan says. 

“halloween,” patton says, by way of explanation, and logan makes a noise of understanding.

it’s virgil’s absolute favorite holiday—logan remembers thinking, as a kid, that whenever virgil started getting excited about halloween, it meant his birthday was coming soon—and logan attempts to forcefully quell what absolutely was _not_ disappointment at his first halloween approach away from sideshire. the setup’s half the fun.

“you still don’t know what you’re dressing up as?”

“nope,” his dad says cheerfully. “he insists that all of it’s gonna be a surprise, so—”

“you don’t even have the _slightest_ idea?” logan pushes.

“well, i’m no you,” his dad points out, and laughs when logan sighs.

“are you doing anything fun, this weekend?” his dad asks, and logan ignores the little squirming <strike>guilty</strike> feeling in his stomach, the same way he always feels when his dad asks the question, and when he answers.

“i think i might go out to dinner with some people on my dorm floor,” logan says vaguely, thinking of the meal that he’ll pack away from the dining hall and eat alone in his room, “or see a movie,” he’ll be making flashcards and quizzing himself over and over and _over_ again, “we haven’t decided yet.”

“oh, that’s great!” his dad says, sounding pleased. “let me know if you see a movie, if it’s good or not, yeah?”

“yeah,” logan says, making a mental note to look up movie reviews in case his dad asks, in their call tomorrow. “how’s work been?”

he leans against the wall, listening to his dad prattle cheerfully on, and he sinks further and further back into the shadows, relishing the autumn chill, the news of home, and the slightest balm that his dad’s voice offers against the gnawing presence of homesickness and loneliness that’s been in his chest since he was left alone in his dorm room for the first time.

* * *

**five days**

“hello?”

“hey! hey hey hey hey hey hey. hey.”

“hello. are you drunk?”

“i’m at a halloween party, and i’ve had a _couple_ drinks.”

“mhm.”

“not many! just a _couple.”_

“of course.”

“a man drunk-dials you _one_ time...”

“it’s been three times, but i’ll allow a pass, since your memory recall is clearly impaired.”

“were you sleeping?”

“no, just reading.”

“s’late. you should be sleeping.”

“roman, why would you have called if you thought i was sleeping?”

“get your logic out of here, i love you and i wanted to check in.”

“ah, okay. have you hit—what was the phrase?”

“...i _might_ be in rambly drunk territory.”

“what a shock.”

“_hey.”_

“it’s true!”

“seriously, though, what are you doing up? usually you’re all about the whole... getting eight hours of sleep thing. or at least _you_ always tell _me_ to get eight hours of sleep.”

“i have an essay—“

“it’s _the weekend.”_

“that does not change the fact i have an essay, roman. in fact, it indicates the nearness of the due date. besides, i’m working ahead so i can better focus when we’re both home next week—”

“ugh, _fine,_ fine. i’m sure i’ll remember this when i can more coherently bring a point together to tell you why taking at least one day off a week is better for your mental health and general productivity, but—“

“roman, was there a _point_ to this call?”

“i _love_ you and i wanted to hear your voice.”

“...you’re pouting.”

“am not.”

“are too.”

“am _not!”_

“are too.”

“am—“

“i’m cutting it off now, or we’ll keep going in circles until the sun rises.”

“fiiiiiine.”

“...._are too.”_

_“hey!”_

* * *

**four days**

"okay,” virgil says, checking the list that he’s taken off the wall as patton pushes the cart behind him, with the _squeak-squeak-squeak_ of a wheel that needs to be oiled.

usually, when he and patton go grocery shopping, they go to taylor doose’s shop in town, but since they need to get decorations and bags of candy and a ton of other stuff, they’ve driven a little closer to the city so they can go to a bigger grocery store that’s got everything they’ll need.

_squeak-squeak-squeak,_ and virgil glances up at the listings hanging from the ceiling.

“so this is food, and i guess over there might be decorations?”

“mhm,” patton says, _squeak-squeak-squeak._

“we’ve gotten candy,” patton had snuck at least three extra bags into the cart and virgil pretended not to see, “we’ve gotten streamers, we got banners, i was thinking about getting some spare fabric in case my idea for cocoa’s costume doesn’t pan out and i have to go to my back-up plan, and we still need to get—”

the squeaking’s stopped. virgil turns back, curious, and sees patton stopped in his path and staring at—

oh.

virgil plods back a few steps, so he’s hovering near patton’s shoulder. patton doesn’t seem to notice, though, as he’s staring at the racks of superhero costumes—from onesies for babies to about the size logan was, when he was seven or so.

“sweetheart,” virgil says, soft and gentle, and patton jumps just a little.

“sorry!” he says, and shakes himself, reaching out a finger as if to brush it against a baby onesie, but thinking better of it, hand curling back toward him. “sorry, sorry, just—i wondered if...”

“yeah?” virgil asks.

“i was just thinking about,” patton says, and swallows. “logan, y’know. when he was this tiny.”

virgil had figured. over the past few months, he’s found patton lost in thought and staring at any number of things—the jam shelf in doose’s grocery, whenever he sees rudy out and about in town, the telescope logan had gotten for his sixteenth birthday that he’d had to reluctantly leave behind since there wouldn’t be enough space for it in his dorm room, any time he passes the press—and it’s just...

it twists at virgil’s heart, every time it happens, a bittersweetness that surges unexpectedly to the surface for him, too—making jam tarts three times a week is an exercise in making sure he doesn’t cry at work, which feels stupid, they’re just _tarts,_ but every time he rolls out dough he thinks of all the times logan had helped him with it, the smiles he’d get whenever virgil snuck him one, and it—

it’s just. hard. kids grow up, and that’s natural, and _good,_ but...

but, well. it didn’t stop the nostalgia.

“do you think he would have been a big superhero fan?” he asks, soft. “if they were as big a market then as they are now.”

patton swallows, leans his head against virgil’s shoulder, just for a moment. “the science ones,” he says softly. “he’d like—he’d like the science ones.”

virgil smiles a little, feeling that familiar lump in his throat. “the reporters, too. he’d have the alliteration thing going, too—lois lane logan. and roman would be superman.”

patton lets out a laugh that’s really closer to a sob, and virgil wants to wrap him up in a long, lingering hug, virgil’s general shyness about public displays of affection be damned, but before he can do that, patton turns. he’s smiling at virgil, just a little, but it’s fake around the edges.

“sorry,” patton says, and swallows. virgil nudges him, just a little.

“he’ll be home soon,” virgil reminds him, soft and quiet.

“i know,” patton murmurs, and a slightly rueful smile twists his lips. “i know, i know. it’s just—”

“i know,” virgil murmurs, and allows himself to lean over and press a chaste kiss to patton’s cheek. “it’s okay to miss him.”

it’s been a common refrain.

“i know.”

that’s been common, too.

“i miss him too,” virgil admits, quiet, and patton squeezes tightly at his wrist, before he takes a deep breath and forcefully turns away from anything resembling a baby clothes section.

“okay,” patton says, and maybe he’s forcing himself to sound a bit brighter and perkier than usual. “what else do we need to get?”

virgil lets it slide, and if he maybe hangs back so that he can hold patton’s hand as they walk through the store—well, patton’s clinging to him tightly enough that it’s clear that he needs it, too.

* * *

**three days**

"i’d had no idea you were so fascinated by halloween,” logan comments, from where he’s holding up the banner as janus affixes the other side.

“you think my spooky bitch aesthetic _wouldn’t_ be all over this?” janus says, voice studiously bland.

“well, you were never ‘all over it’ at chilton.”

“you _wore_ those uniforms for three years,” janus says pointedly. “and you know how strict they were with dress code.”

“true,” logan acknowledges, and steps back when janus comes to attach the other edge of the _CREEPIN IT REAL_ banner to the wall. “are you sure you don’t want to come to sideshire?”

“i’d have to visit my parents,” janus says, with an eye-roll. “i have an invite to get wine-drunk with some poetry majors—“

“i thought it was whiskey-drunk with pre-meds?”

“—so i’m afraid i’m booked, and cannot upstage your little boy-toy with my clearly superior costume.”

“it’s roman,” logan says. “you _know_ it’s roman. you got drunk and spilled a lot of your life story with roman, even if it directly conflicts with the varying life stories you’ve told me. you can no longer pretend that you are not on a first-name basis with him.”

“of course, _sanders,”_ janus says, and logan rolls his eyes, before he draws his hand back from the pile of decor.

“um,” he says, and then winces, because janus can detect any sense of uncertainty in anyone’s tone, like a shark smelling blood. 

“what?” janus says, glancing at him.

“would you,” logan says, and his mouth twists, since he _knows_ he can’t pass this off as anything but sentimental. “would you be willing to keep the fake spider webbing to your side of the room?”

janus narrows his eyes at him. “you’re not afraid of spiders.”

“no,” logan agrees, and hands it over, conscientious of the lack of spider webbing in his halloweens all his life—because his _dad’s_ afraid of spiders, and virgil has always catered to him. “but i’d prefer you kept it to your room anyway.”

* * *

**two days**

"all right, what’ll it be?” virgil asks, leaning a hip against the counter and readying his pen to write down patton’s order.

“_thiiiiiiis_ whole section,” patton says, outlining the special insert of halloween-themed foods with his pointer finger. “oh, and a hot cocoa/coffee, too.”

“_patton.”_

“c’mon, _pleeaaase?”_ patton pleads, batting his eyelashes at virgil. “i’ve barely tried _any_ of them, and you only do it once a year—”

“you won’t be able to eat all that,” virgil starts.

“_sample sizes,_ then,” patton says. “little bits of everything.”

virgil pauses.

“you can control my portions, that way,” patton points out. “_and_ i’ll be taste-testing everything, _and_ i won’t be wasting food. win-win.”

virgil hesitates, tapping the pen. “bigger serving of the butternut squash risotto, so you’ll have an actual meal, a side of vegetables of my choice that you’ll _eat_, and _only_ one cup of caffeinated hot cocoa/coffee, it’s already late in the day.”

patton beams at him, handing him back the menu. “you’re the best.”

“yeah, yeah,” virgil mutters, and patton blows him a kiss, just for extra measure.

virgil rolls his eyes, trying to act like he’s not grinning like a lovestruck idiot, and retreats back into the kitchen to stick the ticket into the deck.

“i really should make a halloween sampler platter next year,” virgil muses aloud, and taps the idea into his phone for later, so he remembers it, before he starts readying patton’s dinner—caramel apple slices, cheesy spiders, monster pizza bites, mummy jalepeño poppers, spooky spinach dip in a bread bowl cauldron, a saucy spider, ghost toast. he adds on a couple decorated cookies that he’ll default _are_ part of the menu, if patton teases him about it.

and, when patton makes the same happy noises that he always does whenever he eats anything that virgil makes him, well. if he’s smiling to himself as he clears out the coffee filters, then it’s no one’s business but his.

* * *

**one day**

“i got it,” virgil says triumphantly.

“got what?” patton says absently, taking out the various kinds of candy they’d bought earlier in the week to put into various bowls.

“cocoa’s costume,” virgil says. “i got it.”

“yeah?” patton says, glancing up at him and grinning. “can i see?”

“nope,” virgil says, and drops a kiss to the top of his head, before he drops into the opposite chair at the kitchen table. “but it is _very_ cute, and it ties in with ours.”

“which i’m also not supposed to know about,” patton says.

“exactly,” virgil says, and he frowns at the bags of candy. “are we mixing or sorting or...?”

“stuff with nuts in red, stuff that’s allergen-safe in blue,” patton says, gesturing to the bowls. 

“got it,” virgil says, tugging a bag full of fun-size skittles toward him. 

cocoa, loyally, takes up her regular seat under the dining table, where she begs for scraps, and patton laughs, reaching down to pet her, tousling her fur and sending her ears flopping.

“no, cocoa, honey,” patton says, smiling, “no candy for you.”

cocoa, however, lives in eternal hope, so she sets her chin on his thigh and lets out a little sigh.

patton does sneakily pop a fun-size snickers into his mouth, though, because he’s an adult and he can eat candy if he wants. 

and a milky way. and a three musketeers. and a reese’s. and—

“it’s cute you think i don’t notice you doing that,” virgil says, not looking up from where he’s opening another bag of candy, and patton smiles at him, only a little guilty, as he tosses a handful of m&ms into his mouth.

“aw, babe,” patton teases, “you think i’m cute?”

virgil looks up at him, fond and jokingly exasperated all at once. “we’re literally engaged.”

“yeah, but,” patton says, and grins wider. “you think i’m _cu-ute.”_

virgil huffs, before he leans over the table, standing, to press a kiss to patton’s lips, and patton can’t stop smiling for long enough to let him do it properly.

virgil doesn’t seem to mind all that much.

* * *

**halloween**

"okay,” virgil says, and hands over a vast bunch of black fabric. patton accepts it with eager hands.

“my costume?”

“your costume,” virgil confirms. “i figured i’d do some makeup too, as we’re waiting for trick-or-treaters, if that’s cool with you.”

patton makes a distracted sound of agreement as he unfolds it—he can’t quite unparse what it is right _now,_ but it’s virgil-made in both idea and fabric-wise, so he’s sure he’ll love it.

“okay,” patton says, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “i’ll change and take the first shift of babies trick-or-treating while you and cocoa get everything ready for the party, yeah?”

“yeah,” virgil says, looking pleased, and patton ducks into the bathroom, untangling the fabric.

it’s a black shirt, a black jacket, black pants—they all have feathery-looking accents, subtle and yet so clear, and patton tilts his head at it, trying to figure it out. it’s some kind of bird, definitely, but—

patton shrugs, and tugs it on, before he stares at himself in the mirror—it’s a bit low-cut, front-wise, but there’s threads criss-crossing in the front to seal it up, so he does. there’s a long, duster-type coat that patton _really_ likes and might wear regularly, too, since the feather stuff is maybe subtle enough to pass off in the middle of the regular season. 

“do you have a shoe preference?” patton hollers through the bathroom door.

“black ones!” virgil calls back. 

“is this a sneak method to make me look goth?” he calls, and he can hear virgil’s snort through the door. 

“just for today,” he calls.

“am i a crow?”

“raven, actually, but there’s a specific one, you’ll realize it soon enough,” virgil says, and patton opens the door to see virgil gathering up his _own_ swaths of dark fabric in his arms, cocoa sitting politely at his feet. patton does a little spin to show off.

virgil smiles, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “you look great.”

“thanks,” patton says, and flaps his arms, and the duster makes it look like wings. “i _really_ like this coat.”

virgil’s smile turns a bit more pleased. “thanks.”

“okay,” patton decides, and makes some last-minute adjustments, making sure his costume sits on him right, and virgil reaches out to correct his collar. “i’ll go out on the porch, just come on out when you and cocoa are ready, yeah?”

he presses a kiss to virgil’s lips, and the last thing he sees is virgil ducking down to cocoa’s level, unearthing a dress-looking thing.

he tries to brainstorm what it is, even as he gives out generous handfuls of candy to the tiny, toddling members of sideshire—mostly toddler-aged kids, at this time, so they don’t have to stay up late—exclaiming over mermaids and superheroes and princesses and witches and ghosts and video game characters, winking at them when he slips them extra.

when their parents ask after him, what _exactly_ he is, he simply shrugs, beaming, before sending the kids on to the next house.

the sun’s just dipped below the horizon when he hears the door open, and the familiar click-click-click of cocoa’s nails on hardwood, then on the porch.

patton whistles lowly, and pats his lap, craning his neck to see her.

she does, indeed, look _very_ cute. patton had been right—it had been a dress, with a kind of vest, maybe, and a tiara nestled amongst the fake flowers on her head that’s already knocked askew.

“you look so _cute,_ baby girl!” patton gushes, getting onto his knees, all the better to pet cocoa without dislodging her costume and to adjust her tiara—it’s ringing a bell in his head, what exactly she is, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

that is, until—

“_the princess shall indeed grow in grace and beauty, beloved by all who know her_,” virgil’s voice rumbles, and patton looks up and _immediately_ feels his mouth go dry. “_but, before the sun sets on her sixteenth birthday, she shall prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die_. or, uh. prick her paw, i guess.”

patton makes a noise that kind of sounds like _guh?_

virgil is... _wow._ he’s dressed in sweeping black robes that make him look taller and slimmer than he already is, imposing, somehow, absolutely towering over everything in sight. the robes have a v neck and a pointed, sharp collar that brings attention to the horns emerging from his head. his cheekbones are absolutely _chiseled, _his lips ruby red, his skin pale and smooth and flawless, his hair—what peeked forth from the horns, anyway—dark and lush and just _begging_ for patton to run his fingers through it.

there’s only peeks of skin—his hands, his neck, a bit of his chest, his face, of course—but he looks so...

patton tries to swallow as he rises to his feet, mouth slightly agape.

virgil’s lips—so _red,_ so full—quirk, and he adjusts his robes, looking self-conscious. “it doesn’t look _that_ bad_,_ does it?” he asks cautiously.

patton reaches up, and scratches lightly through the thin, delicate hairs at the nape of virgil’s neck. he shivers.

and then patton tugs virgil down to his level, and tries his best to kiss him absolutely _silly._ he threads his fingers through whatever bits of virgil’s hair he can grab, tugging him close, the other closing possessively over virgil’s hip and he just pulls him in, as hot and close and tight as he _possibly_ can, and virgil’s lips part under his and he tastes like snuck chocolate and caramel and nougat, and he bites at virgil’s lip, almost half-hoping it’ll taste like what the color reminds him of—candy-coated apples.

when patton manages to let go of him, once he’s at least a little satisfied his emotions on virgil’s costumes have been almost-adequately conveyed, he leans back to see virgil’s slightly-smeared lip gloss that sends a thrill up patton’s spine.

“oh,” virgil says breathlessly.

“yeah,” patton says, grinning, “_oh.”_

somehow, they manage to haul out the two rocking chairs and sit out on the porch for the express purpose of ease of access for trick-or-treaters without patton getting distracted, though he does, for most of the rest of the time they wait for the ebb and flow of floods of kids, keep a hand on virgil’s knee, occasionally squeezing virgil’s thigh.

virgil flushes, just a bit, behind his makeup. he ends up fixing up his lips, and making sure that there aren’t any remnants on patton’s face that give away what they’d been doing, lest any of the children ask why maleficent had been kissing her raven, diaval, as they looked up from petting sleeping beauty.

and, as the promised time inches closer and closer, patton can’t stop himself from fidgeting, and virgil snickers.

“excited?” he teases.

“don’t pretend you haven’t planned out all of logan’s favorite meals for the weekend,” patton says, unable to stop his own smile at the thought—since logan’s birthday is on sunday, he’s come home early with one of the default absences that his lecture professor on friday’s given him, and _roman’s_ coming home, too, so the kids will be around and they might have a big dinner with isadora (and probably one with his parents) but he’ll be able to spend time with his _son._

their daily phone calls are great, true, but he’s missed just hanging out with logan—their companionable silences, seeing his son furrow his brow with interest when he reads a book or an article, the meaningful, wordless quirks of his brow or twists of his lips that patton’s spent eighteen-almost-nineteen years deciphering—so he’s just. he’s _really_ excited.

when the first guests come—emile and remy, dressed up as steven and connie—patton welcomes them perhaps a bit too eagerly as cocoa barks, tail wagging wildly, and patton tries to correct her tiara _again._

he throws himself into hosting as virgil handles the last of the trick-or-treaters that’ll be face-to-face—he makes sure their spooky cauldrons of punch are full, that the platters of themed snacks that virgil had spent most of the day preparing (and mostly preventing patton from eating) are out from the fridge and ferried about the room, and that everyone is having a good time, that he greets everyone and exclaims over their costumes, before—

cocoa starts barking excitedly from the porch, and patton grins, setting down the platter on the nearest available surface and dashing for the door, half-hanging off the ledge in order to see virgil letting logan out of a hug, and tugging roman into an awkward, one-armed kind of thing.

“kiddo!” patton says eagerly, and wraps his arms tightly around logan’s shoulders. logan tolerates it with something less than his usual stiffness—he hugs him back, and patton draws back to grin at him.

“happy halloween.”

“happy halloween,” logan repeats, and patton takes a look at him. he’s wearing a suit, and a dapper hat, and he’s holding a candy cigarette between his fingers, the box with the rest of them tucked away in his breast pocket.

“who—?”

“walter burns, from _his girl friday_.”

patton snorts, just a bit, because of _course_ logan stuck so stubbornly to his interests for a halloween costume, before he looks for roman—who has matched with logan, as hildy johnson, because last year they’d dressed up as two prince charmings and it’s logan’s year to pick—and hooks him into a hug, too.

“i tried convincing him to do black-and-white makeup, but he wouldn’t go for it,” roman says.

“we were already _running late,”_ logan begins, and they barely pause in their bickering to pet cocoa—patton’s given up in keeping her tiara and flowers straight on her head—before they disappear inside, and patton turns to virgil, grinning.

“happy halloween,” virgil says, and leans down to kiss him on the cheek, and patton beams up at him.

“happy halloween.”

(patton doesn’t wash off the bright red lip print on his cheek until he’s getting ready for bed that night.)


End file.
